Session Archived
by Fairady
Summary: Random drabbles. Warnings change for each chapter.
1. Writer's Block

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Fourth wall breakage.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme on LJ which means crack. Most of the time. This is here solely as setup for the next bit.

Writer's Block

by Fairady

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Lucy stared at the screen. White and empty, the cursor blinking from it's stationary position in a smooth, hypnotic rhythm. She stared at it feeling her mind empty of all thoughts until it became just as blank. The world faded with her thoughts, and a feeling of utter serenity filled her.

"Thought you had a really 'awesome' idea," Rebbecca's voice jerked Lucy back to reality.

"I-" Lucy coughed to clear her throat not liking how scratchy it had become. "I do, I just need to figure out where to start."

"I heard the beginning usually works best," Rebbecca said cheerfully as she pulled up a chair. Reaching over Lucy she scrolled up to look at the prompt. "So, I'm thinking you've got a bit of writer's block?"

"Shut up," Lucy scowled as she poked the keyboard. The number one appeared for a brief second before she deleted it. She tried to ignore Rebbecca's snicker. "I'd like to see _you_ do any better."

Rebbecca _grinned_ as she shoved Lucy away from the keyboard, "Don't mind if I do!"

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	2. Urpleish

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Fourth wall breakage, massive OOC, crack, and bad writing.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme on LJ which means crack. Most of the time. In my head they totally left copies of the fic on the kitchen table for the guys to find.

Urpleish  
by Fairady

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Altair stared down on Malik. He realized for the first time that the older was beautiful, and that he'd loved him since they were kids. He reached out across the counter to touch his cheek. Marveling at the softness he'd never allowed himself to think about before but now could not stop thinking about.

"A-Altair!" Malik stopped mid-rant and blushed at the unexpected kind touch. His eyes looked away as if embarrassed by something. As if hiding some secret.

"Malik," Altair smirked. He had a fair idea what that was and leaned over the counter. Lips close to the tempting flesh of the older. Wanting nothing more than to taste the sweet skin of his-

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_"Rebbecca!"_

_"What? You can't tell me all that fighting and arguing wasn't from sexual tension."_

_"I'm not. Your writing is just horrible though! Men don't act like that, especially not those two particular men."_

_"Fine, fine. How about-"_

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Ezio ran fingers through long blond hair, it's touch softer than any silk he'd touched before. Watching in somehting close to reverence at the contrast between his skin and that hair. He leaned down and kissed the golden lock wrapped around his fingers before letting it lose to fall to the bed with the rest of the mane.

Leonardo slept on peacefully and oblivious to the Assassin sitting on the edge of his bed. A tempting angel that he could no longer resist. Ezio smiled and leaned down to kiss the painter's lips. The faint taste of the drugged wine still lingered-

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_"No!"_

_"What now, Lucy? And don't tell me you think he's completely straight."_

_"Hell no, I think he was a slut who'd do anything that gave him half a chance. I just don't think he'd be the kind that'd date rape his best friend."_

_"Ugh! You're so strict!"_

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Desmond's face was on fire. He could feel it and only hoped that the moonlight coming through the cabin window was faint enough that no one else could see it. Especially since the only other person here was Shaun. Shaun who had peeled himself out of his wet clothes like it was nothing, wrapped himself in the only blanket available in the cabin, and was now watching Desmond shiver in his own wet clothes with his habitual sneer firmly in place. "Don't have all night, Miles. Unless you want to get pneumonia."

Desmond blushed harder as he reluctantly peeled his wet clothes off. He didn't want to do this but the alternative was to freeze to death in the cold. He said nothing as he walked over to the British man and sat right next to him. Twitching the other end of the blanket over him and trying not to squirm in embarrassment even as he relished the heat.

"So," Shaun shifted closer, pulling the blanket tight around them both, and rubbing against Desmond in a way that made him want to squirm in an entirely different way, "did you see anything you liked?"

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_"You're going to break something if you keep laughing that hard, Lucy."_

_"Oh, god! That's, it's-"_

_"Horrible again?"_

_"No! It's perfect! Keep writing."_

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	3. Touch

Disclaimer: I own not, though I'd sell what's left of my soul to own some of the wardrobe from the game.

Warnings: Slash leanings and whump.

Notes: Comment_fic request. Just pure fluff with no redeeming qualities.

Touch  
by Fairady

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Altair knows, as his knees almost buckle under him when he lands in the Bureau, that he had been reckless. His body aches from his run from Jerusalem's guards. The bloody cuts and bruises are an effective reminder of why one should never forget to keep their guard up.

He slumps to his knees beside the fountain. Bloody fingers clumsily working his weapons and robes off. Pained hisses escape him as his wounds are stretched and scraped. It is a slow and painful process, but one that must be done.

Altair instinctively tenses when someone else enters the courtyard. Malik's mere presence is harsh and heavy as always, but at the sight of blood he forgoes his usual barbs and insults. Instead he says nothing as he settles next to Altair and waits for him to finish disrobing.

Malik's hand is rough and calloused -from the quill and the throwing knives Altair knows he still practices with- but the touch that carefully mends his wounds is amazingly gentle. The man himself remains silent as well, attention focused on Altair in a way that makes him ache in an entirely different way. And for the space of a few moments Altair can forget his transgressions, his mission, and Malik's hate.

For that alone, Altair would gladly seek out every guard in the city.

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	4. Missing

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Slash and fluff.

Notes: Missfire fill, no redeeming qualities beyond being able to induce a sugar rush from the sweetness.

Missing  
by Fairady

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Altair grabbed blindly, somehow managing to snag the back of Malik's robe. He dodged the fist, and used the man's own momentum to spin him into the corner of the room. Stepping in close he used his own body to make sure Malik didn't try to run again.

"Release me!" Malik snarled, pushing awkwardly at Altair's chest. "Altair!"

"No," Altair said, right hand moving to the top of Malik's loosened robe. He ignored the man's curses and struggles as he pushed down the left side. Revealing the one part of his body he tried so hard to keep hidden.

The stump of Malik's left arm was wrapped loosely with bandages that fell easily to Altair's fingers. The fight seemed to leave Malik though his glare still promised bloody revenge. Possibly enacted the moment Altair next tried to sleep.

He kissed Malik's exposed shoulder in apology, unsure how to explain that there was no part of his lover he did not think was beautiful.

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	5. The Moment

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Slash leaning and fluff.

Notes: Missfire fill. And I take back everything I've said about the previous two bits. This one truly has no redeeming qualities to it.

The Moment  
by Fairady

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Altair stiffened as an arm wrapped around his middle. He knew who was behind him already but the instinct to lash out and pull away was almost overwhelming. When the arm tightened and tried to pull him back he resisted, "Malik, what are you doing?"

Malik snorted but stopped pulling. Instead he stepped forward, pressing up against Altair's back, "Stop talking, Altair."

His arm tightened again but this time it was a simple hold as Malik did not seem inclined to move. Hot breath fanned over Altair's neck a brief second before Malik buried his face there. Altair was trapped, held tightly against the other man's body. The urge to lash out persisted as he tried to figure out what Malik was thinking.

"Stop thinking, novice. You will only hurt yourself," Malik's voice was oddly gentle despite the harsh words. His hand flattened on Altair's chest and began to move in circles. "Just relax."

"What?" Altair found himself relaxing without a thought. Confusion slowly dissipating as he realized what was happening.

A hug. The simple gesture used to be common for them when they were novices. A greeting, a farewell, or for no reason other than the other was close enough to touch. They were so far gone from those days when they had trusted each other so completely. Altair felt saddened at how long it had been.

"Did I not tell you to stop thinking?" Malik grumbled in annoyance though he made no attempt to pull away.

"Usually you would say I do not think enough," Altair replied with a smile, allowing himself to fully relax. Turning his head to the side just enough to press his cheek to Malik's. One hand coming up to grip the arm wrapped around him as he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the moment.

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	6. Old Enough

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this.

Warnings: Gender-bender AU.

Notes: Meh. Idea that didn't pan out much.

Old Enough  
by Fairady

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Malik is old enough to understand that her name is odd. It is a boy's name and she is teased mercilessly about it. She is not old enough to understand why her mother gave it to her. The steel-eyed woman provides food, shelter, clothing, and nothing else for her children.

Malik is old enough to understand why their mother does not come back one day. Kadar does not though and cries for days. She is not old enough to understand what she must do about it. They stay in the small room they have lived in all their lives until the food runs out.

Malik is old enough to understand how to get food. She watches in the markets for hours until she is able to walk through and grab a piece of bread or an untended coin. She is not old enough to understand why leaving Kadar alone to get food is bad. When she returns there are two men looking at Kadar's blue eyes and debating how much he will sell for.

Malik is old enough to understand that she needs to run. Kadar cries at the scratches on his face, but Malik has enough to deal with trying not to drop her brother as the shouts begin behind her. She is not old enough to understand why it is only a group of children that helps them escape. The bread she still clutches is enough to buy Kadar and herself a spot in the hovel they are led to.

Malik is old enough to understand that spot can be kept, that Kadar will be watched and safe, _if_ she works. She is brought to the market again and taught how to steal more than she thought possible. She is not old enough to understand fully what she is doing. Not nearly old enough, but that does not last long.

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	7. Bar AU

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money.

Warning: AU crack.

Notes: The modern bar AU is very common. Of course I'd think about it a few times. Ok, a lot. Might see a few more of these. Especially since Texts From Last Night continuously offers me ideas for more.

In Which Desmond Figures Out The Devil's Game  
by Fairady

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"No," Desmond said.

"I'm good."

"No," Desmond repeated with more emphasis.

"Seriously!" the drunk shouted. His speech was impeccable for how much alcohol he had in him, but his gaze was still firmly fixed to the left of Desmond's head. "I'm good!"

"Like hell you are," Desmond was starting to get annoyed. The man wasn't getting violent about being cut off but his persistence was even worse. A violent patron could be forcefully evicted. An annoying one had to be put up with. So sayeth Lucy Stillman who signed his paycheck each week. "You're cut off for the rest of the night, buddy. I'm not changing my mind."

"You don't get it. I was president of a fraternity for three years," the man said, face deadly serious. "Three years! I can out-drink God himself!"

"Well, he isn't here," Desmond _finally_ caught Malik's attention and pointed at the patron who was starting to sway alarmingly. The bouncer nodded and quickly made his way to the bar. Screw Lucy's rules, Desmond wasn't up for dealing with this type of drunk tonight. "So be nice while Satan here takes you out to a cab."

"Sir," Malik caught the man as he almost fell. The respectful title, as always, sounding odd when said by the unsmiling man. "Come with me."

"Hey," the man said as he was easily pulled towards the door, "Hey, hey! You got one arm."

Desmond winced as the door slammed shut behind them. He went back to serving the dwindling crowd, keeping a wary eye on the door. Not five minutes passed before Malik came back in looking scarily satisfied as he walked back to the bar.

"How'd it go, Satan?" Desmond asked as he filled a coffee mug with the strong brew Rebbecca had made earlier. Not bothering with any sugar or creamer he pushed it across the bar. The other man liked the stuff black. As black as his own heart.

"Aside from the bruising he's safely on his way home," Malik smiled slightly as he took the mug, "You should have cut him off earlier. He was too drunk to use the stairs without tripping even with my help."

There was no special inflection or emphasis on the word 'help' but Desmond heard it anyway.

Kadar said his brother dealt well with questions and insults about his amputated arm, but Desmond didn't believe a word of it. He'd noticed that in one way or another the patrons who did mention it -no matter how mildly- all seemed to have a bad night at the bar. The bad nights ranged from Malik throwing a man through his own windshield to an entire group of giggling women getting _mysteriously_ locked in the tiny cleaning closet for most of the night. All courtesy of Malik, though Desmond hadn't been able to get much proof of it. With a few exceptions the man was never even near the patrons when they ran afoul of bad luck.

Kadar said Desmond was being paranoid, there was no way his brother could or even would do petty revenge. Desmond hadn't bothered to mention the unholy light that always seemed to enter Malik's eyes when bad things happened to people. The younger brother was obviously in denial.

"Devil," Desmond said, not fooled even a bit by the seemingly innocent event Malik was telling him. Malik simply smiled as he left with the mug.

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	8. Crispy Fried Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Fangirlism and dead goats.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme. It involved goats and sacrificing. I could not ignore that.

Crispy Fried Goat  
by Fairady

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"You killed the goat?" Desmond _finally_ spoke.

Shaun sighed and mentally kissed his good fortune adieu. Not hearing Desmond prattle on about anything and everything for a day had been a welcome respite. The man could -and had on one occasion that would never be repeated as long as Shaun had access to a gun- talk about specks of dust for hours on end just to hear the sound of his own voice. So, the day of silence had been blissful and he'd made no effort to hide how very pleased with the situation he'd been. Lucy and Rebecca had made some concerned noises but they weren't constantly being badgered by the man so they couldn't properly appreciate it.

"You _killed_ the goat!" Desmond repeated. Voice swerving from petulant and childish to outraged and childish.

"Yes, Desmond," Shaun said dryly as he started up his laptop for the days work, "I killed the goat."

Desmond gave him a look filled with so much betrayal and heartbreak that Shaun looked around to make sure his life hadn't been turned into some ridiculous soap opera without him being told. There were no cameras though. Only Lucy tiredly rubbing her head and Rebecca failing to hide her grin. He gave her a glare which only made the grin grow.

Desmond sputtered. Obviously finding it hard to scrape together enough of his fried brain cells to work through what he wanted to say. "Why?"

"We're running low on our food rations," Shaun said typing in his password and pulling up the previous day's work. The sooner the idiot got into the Animus the sooner Shaun could go back to enjoying the quiet.

"You cooked him!" Desmond screeched looking pale and vaguely ill.

"No, I offered it's corpse as a sacrifice in the hopes that a semi of food will fall out of the sky for us. Just where the bloody hell do you think we'd get food around here?" Shaun swept his had around him to indicate the abandoned farm and bare land outside it. "It may have escaped your attention but we're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Can't exactly run to the corner store can we?"

Shaun thought that was a fairly reasonable argument. One that would end this conversation, but, as always, Desmond failed to be swayed by petty things like logic.

"You cooked _Bernie_ you fucking bastard!" Desmond was suddenly much closer. His face red in anger and eyes almost glowing with it. Shaun stood up from his chair automatically at the swift motion. Not feeling very comfortable sitting down while Desmond stood over him, fists clenched hard enough to make the muscles under his tattoo quiver.

"You named it?" Shaun ignored the man's proximity -and the little voice that told him he might want to shut the fuck up right now- and arched one eyebrow as he smirked. Good Lord, forget the soap opera. He had to be in a Disney movie, and Desmond was about to break down in song about his lost best friend. "How quaint. Did you paint it's hooves and tell it all your secrets too, Princess?"

"Shut the fuck up, Shaun!" Desmond snarled taking a step closer and trying to intimidate him by crowding him. "Figures a cold bastard like you'd eat a defenseless goat without feeling anything. Did you like it? Did Bernie taste good, goat murderer!"

"Yes! I ate the damn goat and it tasted fan-_fucking_-tastic!" Shaun shouted back getting up in Desmond's face and refusing to back down over something this fucking ridiculous. Anger flared from it's usual slow burn into a quick fire as he growled, "And you know what? So did you! Yum, yum bitch!"

Desmond made a very interesting noise, face contorting into something that Shaun had never seen before. Which was all the warning he got before the other man jumped at Shaun, fists flying and every single thing he'd ever learned about fighting gone. That suited Shaun just fine as he lashed out at whatever part of the fucking bastard was closest.

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Lucy watched the fight escalate and wondered why the hell she'd even bothered getting out of bed that day. Shaun's glasses skittered across the floor to rest safely near the base of the Animus as the two men traded punches, kicks, and even a few bites.

"Should I tell him Shaun's lying?" Rebecca casually asked as she wheeled her chair out of their way and closer to Lucy. She was grinning but Lucy didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed whenever the boys got too close to her baby.

The goat, Bernie, had been a, well, _goat_. And goats apparently had a terrible habit of eating things they should not if they were lying around within reach of their teeth. Including high voltage power lines. Why Shaun had felt compelled to take credit for it, and Lucy's decision to not let good meat go to waste was a mystery to her. One that linked in to why Desmond felt compelled to fight over a dead animal that she _knew_ he'd tried to kill himself after it ate one of his shoes.

"No," Lucy decided after much silent debate, during which Shaun had managed to roll Desmond under him and was now smacking his head off the floor. "I think they both need this too much. Maybe once their done airing out their testosterone they'll finally get around to getting rid of all that sexual tension."

Rebecca laughed.

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	9. For the Road

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warning: Slash.

Notes: Prompt was Lucy and Rebecca saying goodbye before she went deep undercover. Goodbyes are never as easy as they seem like they should be, and they never get any easier.

For the Road  
by Fairady

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Rebecca doesn't say anything as she watches Lucy carefully fold the clothes they'd picked out weeks ago. When this whole mission seemed much farther away than it was. Bland shirts and skirts that look like they could be picked up by the dozen, but just fine enough in quality to make it look like she'd actually made an effort to look professional on a college living expense. A small kit of makeup that would never do her any justice lays on the mattress next to a pair of boots that are absolutely hideous, but more functional than the dress shoes she'll wear as she walks away.

The thought brings up the surge of pain that she's been ignoring since they went shopping for this mission. Rebecca closes her eyes and breathes past the heavy lump in her throat. Ignoring the sting in her eyes and the urge to ask -_plead_- for her not to go. She can't do that to Lucy, can't do that to the Order. It doesn't stop her from wishing it could be different though.

Hands touch her shoulders and skim lightly down her body. Rebecca looks up at Lucy who isn't smiling and looks lost already.

"Lucy-" Rebecca opens her mouth to say something, but doesn't get anything else out as the other woman finds the hem of her sweater. Lucy pulls the thing up and over her head in one quick motion leaving her in a thin tank top.

It's a dull maroon with gold lettering of the college they've been staying at to lend credence to Lucy's background. Rebecca had bought it for the sole purpose of combating the chill that seeped past the dorms crappy insulation. She'd worn it a lot. It folds into a compact little square that Lucy carefully places into her duffel bag.

When Lucy zips her bag closed and looks up, still lost but also _determined_, Rebecca forgets her earlier promise not to break down. She gets up and wraps her arms around the woman. Imprinting the smell and feel of Lucy into her mind. Holding her tight as she kisses her. One last time.

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	10. Strawberry Peppermint

Disclaimer: I own not the characters and have done nothing but spend vast amounts of money to get cool swag for these games.

Warnings: Slash.

Notes: Kink meme challenge, write a short scene with a couple confessing. And there is a serious lack of proper love for the lady Assassins in fandom.

Strawberry Peppermint  
by Fairady

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Rebecca tastes like the strawberry daiquiris she's been drinking all night. Cold and faintly sweet which contrasts nicely with the slight taste of chocolate on her tongue that tells Lucy exactly why her bag of candy got empty so fast. It's a sign of how much she's drunk that Lucy's first thoughts are to wonder if she tastes as strongly of the peppermint martinis she's been drinking.

It's not until Rebecca pulls back that Lucy thinks, _She kissed me._

"So," Rebecca grins down at her as she casually takes a sip of her drink, "I was wondering, have you ever thought about dating women before?"

"Dating?" Lucy asks, feeling her lips curl up into a smile she can't stop. She blames it on the way they tingle and the lingering taste of strawberry and alcohol. "Isn't that something that's supposed to happen _before _the first kiss?"

"Well, only for those who're sure the answer won't be no," Rebecca says it with a bright smile, but her eyes are very serious as she looks at Lucy. Waiting.

Because Lucy's never thought about it and Rebecca knows that. Lucy hasn't thought about dating anyone -seriously or not- since high school. Since her world view changed drastically. Nothing more than the barely there thought that it would be nice to have someone to hold every once in a while.

Rebecca licks her lips, and Lucy wants to know if she's tasting peppermint. If it makes her lips tingle even more. The fact that Lucy thinks about it is really all the answer she needs, even if she is slightly tipsy. She knows Rebecca, and she knows she won't regret this in the morning.

"I suppose," Lucy says, one hand reaching up to tangle in Rebecca's shirt and tug, "I can take an IOU on that. Since it's too late for any restaurant to be open."

Rebecca loses her drink quickly as she lets herself be pulled down by Lucy. Snorting as she asks, "Steak dinner?"

"Respect me in the morning," Lucy says and then muffles Rebecca's laughter with her lips.

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	11. Questionable

Disclaimer: I own not and spend more money than I have to the people that do own it all.

Warnings: Slash.

Notes: Missfire fill. I think. I can't quite remember because I was experimenting with chocolate milkshakes and Kahlua that night.

Questionable

by Fairady

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And one day Altair and Malik stopped fighting.

Exactly when they stopped, no one could say. Why they stopped, no one asked because asking came with the real possibility of them _starting_ again. If for no other reason than to be contrary.

The two men, who had been at each other's throats since childhood -and not slowed down for petty things like a loss of a limb or betrayal- had simply stopped. They raised neither voices nor fists as the days went on. No argument turned heated with tables overturned and blood soaked parchments flying everywhere. Even when they disagreed all that followed were well-thought discussions. Discussions that weighed both sides before leading to a compromise.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into a year. Not a single fight broke out between the two. The Order ran along smoothly, more fluently than ever before.

Most thought it was a miracle in proportion with the divine power so few of them believed in, and left the matter at that. Content that the two men who now led them were at peace.

The others were not so content to let matters lie as they were. They were the ones who'd spent the most time with the two men. Trained with them, shared quarters with them, and had frequent close encounters with their fights. Those no-holds barred fights that none of the instructors knew about. The ones that had almost led to one or both of their deaths on several occasions.

To these men there was no possible way to reconcile the image of Altair and Malik at peace with the blood soaked and screaming image of their memories. This lack of thunder and blood was unnatural.

They kept their thoughts among themselves and settled in to watch. Carefully. Looking for the cause and silently preparing themselves for whatever unnatural thing had caused it. Willing to do whatever it took to take care of it.

None ever saw what took place in their private quarters though, and so they waited in vain.

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Altair easily caught himself as he was shoved into his rooms. Irritation battled with anticipation and lost. He turned quickly, not wanting to miss a single moment as Malik stalked towards him.

"Shut up," Malik said, his eyes fixed on Altair with an intensity that made his heart race. "I have listened to enough talk today. All I want to hear now is you screaming my name."

Altair laughed as he met the man head on. Meeting that intensity with his own, the banality of the day melting away for the night. "Make me."

"I will," Malik promised. And he _did_.

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	12. Timing

Disclaimer: I own not the characters and have done nothing but spend vast amounts of money to get cool swag for these games.

Warnings: Slash, sex.

Notes: Kink meme challenge, write a short scene with a couple confessing. Shaun and Desmond now, and I have nothing else to say.

Timing  
by Fairady

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It was the most ridiculous situation he'd ever had to endure. Considering the fact that his most embarrassing moments of life could all too easily be found on YouTube -and thank _something_ for the fact that no one had tried googling his name yet- that said something.

Shaun Hastings was a grown man. He'd survived primary school while wearing inch thick glasses, Uni while mostly drunk, apathetic students, Abstergos' hired thugs, and Rebecca. He did things for a living that Ian Flemming wouldn't have thought possible. He knew enough of the true history of the world to make Dan Brown -_innocent_ despite his best efforts to connect the man to Abstergos- green with envy. He was smart dammit! Worldly and knowledgeable and all that rot.

None of it, not one single bit of it, saved him from this bloody ridiculous situation.

He was _gaping_. While naked and hard, straddling an equally naked and hard Desmond Miles in the tiny closet which was the only place in the warehouse he could be sure Rebecca wouldn't "accidentally" stumble upon them. Shaun was slick and prepared to take the hard prick nudging against his backside. A quick, hard fuck stopped cold as Desmond uttered four words. Three of which Shaun could barely comprehend. "Fuck, I love you."

Shaun closed his mouth with a snap and glared at the idiot. He had to fight hard to restrain the urge to hit him. "We're going to have a talk after this about your awful timing."

"Whatever you say," Desmond had the audacity to snicker as he rubbed himself against Shaun. "Anyone ever tell you you're kinda cute when you're speechless and blushing?"

"Shut up," Shaun growled, and when that only got more snickering he forced the issue by sinking down on the man's prick. Effectively stopping any laughter, teasing, or bloody _love_ confessions for the next ten to fifteen minutes.

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	13. Whoops

Disclaimer: I own not and spend more money than I have to the people that do own it all.

Warnings: Fourth wall breakage.

Notes: Missfire fill. Forgetting to anon on the kink meme happens, but is usually only seen by those with email alerts.

Whoops  
by Fairady

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"Fuuuuuuck," Desmond moaned with a look of sheer horror plastered across face.

"What?" Shaun froze in alarm. He snapped his head back to the security feeds which showed Lucy and Rebbecca still in the kitchen glued to Lucy's laptop. "What are you on about now, Miles?"

Desmond hunched down in the chair. Eyes nervously flicking from the computer screen to Shaun. Which did absolutely nothing to ease Shaun's nerves. "I forgot the anon button."

"You idiot!" Shaun relaxed and turned a proper glare on the seated man. "Just delete it then. Or leave it as it is. Anonymity doesn't seem to be that high of a priority here."

"But I'm logged into my journal."

"What!" Shaun abandoned the security feeds and shoved Desmond away from the computer. The idiot was signed into his account, and Shaun rolled his eyes as he quickly deleted the prompt. How the man could screw up such a simple task was beyond him. "Honestly, Desmond, you bring the word failure to entirely new heights. Be thankful the women are too busy writing to see that go up."

Silence answered him, and the completeness of it made all of Shaun's internal alarms go off again. Desmond was never quiet, most days it seemed physically impossible for him to shut up. Especially when Shaun was insulting him.

"What is it?" Shaun turned to the still seated man who was very carefully not looking at Shaun. "Desmond!"

"Rebbecca has it on email alerts," Desmond finally replied.

"Shit," Shaun had just enough time to contemplate the mind-numbing task hacking into Rebbecca's email would be before a shriek echoed through the building. He didn't bother looking at the security feeds as he stood up and gathered up his book and tea. "Just so you know, I'm disavowing any knowledge of this. Have fun explaining this to Lucy and Rebbecca."

Shaun left the room quickly. Desmond swearing and smacking his head lightly against the desk.

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	14. Not a Complete Lie

Disclaimer: I own not and spend more money than I have to the people that do own it all.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Missfire fill. And now I want cake. Delicious cake.

Not a Complete Lie  
by Fairady

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.

The cake was a decadent looking chocolate vision. Three layers of rich chocolate cake with layers of chocolate ganache in between. It was covered with a thick layer of creamy icing. Grated pieces of chocolate -white and dark- were spread out on the top and a little on the side. Each individually sliced piece had a dollop of whipped cream with a bright maraschino cherry on top.

Desmond had never wanted a single thing more in his life than he wanted that cake. He'd planned it out. Timing his plan to coincide with the varied schedules of the others. Carefully watching them and patiently waiting for the perfect time to go for it. Ignoring his growing sense of urgency as it disappeared slice by slice until the perfect opportunity arose. Lucy was gone on a supply run, she wouldn't be back until dinner. Rebecca had just started her almost ritual hour long shower that would not be interrupted by anything short of the Animus bursting into flames. Shaun was safely wrapped up in something on his computer with a full, hot cup of tea he would slowly sip for the next two hours.

The timing didn't get any better than that. With only one piece remaining, Desmond took his chance. Moving quickly but quietly in the kitchen. Getting a plate and fork and then carefully transferring the cake out of it's box. Days of planning, nights of wanting. It was all worth it.

For all of two seconds.

"What the fuck, man!" Desmond actually _growled_ as the plate was snatched away. His fork -left dangling in midair- was spun and clenched in his fist menacingly as he rounded on his opponent.

Shaun held the plate away and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. "I thought we went over this before, Desmond. Fat men don't get dessert."

"It's just one piece," Desmond protested. Eying the distance to the cake and calculating the odds of getting to it before Shaun dropped it on the floor. The numbers were perilously low. "And I'm not fat!"

"That roll of flesh spilling out of your jeans says otherwise," Shaun said as he looked at the cake. "Better yet, tell it to someone that hasn't seen how much trouble you have putting those jeans on."

"It's not that bad," Desmond hated that his words came out suspiciously close to a whine. Sure, his jeans were getting a little on the tight side, and he might -_might!_- have a little problem putting them on in the mornings, but that was to be expected. Clothes shrank, especially when they had to be washed so often because you had nothing else to wear. Regular workouts between Animus sessions were also doing their bit as he started to gain muscle mass. "One fucking piece isn't going to kill me."

It was a lost cause though. Shaun wouldn't budge on the issue anymore than Lucy or Rebecca would. Especially not if he could show off just how much of a dick he was at the same time. Desmond wondered what his odds were of catching one forkful of the cake before it got dropped. Wondered if it was really worth the price the women would exact for it, because Shaun would of course tell them all about it.

"No. You are on a diet until that excess fat goes away. Which means," Shaun grinned then because he was a son of a bitch, "no cake for you."

And then, because he was a _sadistic_ son of a bitch, he snagged the fork out of Desmond's hand and walked off with the plate. Humming in obvious enjoyment as he ate it. "Asshole!"

.

.


	15. Crawling

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Slash, airplay.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme. My mind apparently really liked the thought of Desmond crawling around naked.

Crawling  
by Fairady

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.

"Goddammit," Desmond panted past the constriction on his throat. The collar around his neck pulled tight enough to make breathing difficult let alone talking. A quick yank of the leash cut even that off forcing him to crawl forward for a little slack. A little air.

Nothing else mattered at the moment. Not the cold concrete under his knees and hands. Not the sting of scratches from it's roughness. Desmond gasped when the collar loosened again, letting him breathe. "Shaun-"

Shaun pulled on the leash again, cutting off his airflow for precious seconds before allowing it to slacken again. His smile was cool and distant but the fire in his eyes as he looked down was _hungry_. His accent thick and voice rough from arousal making Desmond feel breathless for an entirely different reason. "Come on, Desmond, crawl for me."

.

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	16. CoWorkers

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Slash, OC.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme. Kyle became a bit of a thing in my mind, but I'll never write more of him than this. He's an arrogant little prick.

Co-workers  
by Fairady

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Desmond swallowed a moan, focusing on not tipping the wobbly chair back far enough to send them to the floor and trying not to blow his load like some teenager. Both were surprisingly hard to do with Kyle fucking himself on Desmond's cock like his life depended on it.

Kyle moaned like a porn star as he bounced on Desmond's lap. Eagerly taking his cock in and begging, _demanding_ more even as his pretty blue eyes rolled into the back of his head. Desmond swore viciously and fought to stay still, to keep his body centered, as he felt the chair begin to pitch backwards again. Because stopping? Was out of the god damned question.

Desmond knew that Kyle, fucking cocktease that he was, would have no problem just walking away from this. Even after he'd spent their entire shift teasing the fuck out of them both. A touch here, an _interesting_ massage when the shift got slow, and the things he did with the bottles... Desmond tightened his grip on the man's thighs barely holding back the urge to buck up into that tight ass at the memory.

"I love your cock," Kyle moaned out as he seated himself. Almost purring as he ground down on it. "Need a shirt for it. I heart Desmond's big hard cock. I'd wear it all the time."

"Shut up. Just-" Desmond shifted forward again as the chair wobbled. Hands holding Kyle tight enough to bruise, and he didn't really care that Kyle was stupid enough to show up at work the next day with a shirt just like that. He was so close to coming that nothing else mattered except that Kyle not stop moving.

"With glitter," Kyle gasped, back arching and speeding up. Not caring in the least what that did to their precarious center of gravity. "Rainbow glitter, pink hearts. The whole works."

"Fucking-" _idiot_, Desmond wanted to say, but that was the point where Kyle lost it. Came across Desmond's stomach and tightened so fucking good around him. He moaned as he came not even really feeling it when the chair tipped back sending them both to the floor with a resounding crash.

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	17. This Vision

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or story of Assassin's Creed, and I make no money off of this. Though I really need the money cause they're tempting me with that collectors edition of Brotherhood. Why do I have to choose between the Doctor and the Harlequin!

Warnings: Slash.

Notes: Misfire fill for the kink meme. Nothing but smut.

This Vision  
by Fairady

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Desmond was in fucking love.

"Oh yeah," he moaned as he fisted the short hair of the British patron doing an absolutely fantastic job of sucking Desmond's brains out through his dick.

The man hummed in response going down all the way and swallowing, leaving Desmond swearing and seeing supernovas behind his eyes as he thrust his hips. Desmond forced his eyes open, not sure when they closed. He had to fucking see it. Had to watch his fingers thread through the man's hair, and watch his dick slide in and out of that talented mouth.

The man was looking up at him over his glasses, nose brushing Desmond's skin, and lips stretched wide around his dick. Spit slick and shining in the flickering light of the alley, "Fucking beautiful."

He didn't protest when Desmond pulled on his hair, forcing him to take more of his dick into that slick heat. The guy actually seemed to like it, relaxing his throat to take him -_fuck!_- all the way in. And just before he came with mind numbing force, Desmond swore he'd propose if the man swallowed.

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	18. Not Touching

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money. At all.

Warning: None.

Notes: Missfire for the random links spamming the first round of the kink meme. Also, I think Desmond is a man who can and does resort to kindergarten annoyance tactics whenever possible. Also, Lucy makes the best/worst mom.

Not Touching  
by Fairady

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"What the fuck is that?"

"Russian," Shaun replied without looking away from the screen. His innate assholishness imbuing that one word with a level of scorn and sarcasm Desmond hadn't thought possible until he met the man.

"I know _that_, you dick," Desmond leaned on the back of Shaun's chair, making sure he brushed against the man's neck just because he knew it irritated him. "Why're you writing in Russian?"

"Why do you always insist on knowing everything, Desmond?" Shaun turned around to deliver a truly evil looking glare at Desmond. Pointedly moving away from his offending arms. "Is it some strange compulsion of yours? Would not knowing one tiny and insignificant detail cause irreparable psychological harm? Tell me it will. I think I'd rather like to watch you go into convulsions."

"I'll bet you would," Desmond said. He relaxed his arms, letting them dangle in the space between Shaun's back and the chair. Which brought him in contact with the man again. "Because you're a cold-hearted sadistic fuck."

Shaun sniffed, he probably thought it was scornful but Desmond always thought about little old ladies dressed in lace and bonnets when he did it. His glare kicked up a notch and he scooted forward even more. Barely sitting on the chair anymore as he put an inch of space between his back and Desmond's arms.

"Oh no, it's a common reaction to anyone meeting you," Shaun said turning back to the computer. Not saying anything about the intrusion of his personal space beyond his usual passive-aggressive ways. "You've got a real gift for pissing people off."

"Yeah," Desmond let his amusement show through his voice. He leaned over Shaun's to "look" at the screen. Casually folding his arms across the top of Shaun's stiff shoulders. "I know."

Shaun finally snapped. Leaping off the chair and whirling on Desmond. His face red as he shouted, "Quit touching me!"

Success was sweet, but could always be sweeter. Desmond grinned, reaching out towards the other man with one hand but stopping just short of contact, "I'm not touching you."

Indignant rage flashed through Shaun's eyes and he started sputtering, "You-"

"I swear to god," Lucy broke in from across the room looking torn between amusement and annoyance, "if you boys don't stop fighting I'm going to turn this mission around and beat both of your butts."

Rebecca doubled over in her chair and laughed.

.

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	19. Provides Access

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money. Which is a shame because I sorely need some right now.

Warnings: My humor.

Notes: Missfire fills gain a new life when spambots start targeting kink memes.

Provides Access  
by Fairady

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.

"I don't!" Desmond protested loudly when he'd backed into the wall and run out of room to run.

"Please," Rebecca rolled her eyes. Gesturing at him with her half-eaten bagel. "I see you do it all the time, Des. You've done it three times today and it isn't even noon!"

"Look," Desmond started then trailed off. He looked pained and his eyes kept darting towards the door behind her. "I _don't _look at Shaun's ass, alright?"

"Bull!" Rebecca sang out as she grinned. "You don't even check Lucy out half as much as you do Shaun. And she wears tighter pants. Just admit it, you've got a gay crush on him."

"No!" Desmond flushed quite cutely as he pushed past her and headed out the door. Stopping just long enough to snap, "I'm straight, dammit!"

.

.

Lucy sighed as she noticed the lack of typing coming from one corner of the room. She didn't even need to look back to know the cause. "Shaun, stop staring at Desmond. We need your attention on those documents."

"I've already finished, Lucy," Shaun said with an only slightly aggravated tone. She waited as the man paused before continuing in a icy voice, "And I was not staring at Desmond."

"Of course not," Lucy agreed with a well hidden smile. She glanced over her shoulder at the Animus and it's occupant. "I can't say that I blame you though."

Shaun pushed back from his desk, wheeling his chair over so he could give her a very flat and pissy look. "What?"

"For looking," Lucy met that look with a smug little grin. "He's practically edible without a shirt on."

"I wouldn't know, Lucy. For your information," Shaun said stiffly, face turning an interesting shade of red as he wheeled back to his desk, "I'm straight."

.

.

Shaun had avoided him like the plague all day. He didn't look at him, talk to him, or even acknowledge him. Which wasn't a whole lot different than a normal day except now the man was taking it to extreme levels that made him swear Shaun had been a ninja in a previous life. Earlier he'd followed Shaun into the kitchen to ask about something, but had only been faced with an empty room. He'd almost chalked it up as another -disturbing- hallucination when Rebecca had come in after him and did a double-take. The kitchen had one door and a window too small for anyone to fit through, and they'd both checked it thoroughly. Shaun had just disappeared.

Desmond was still trying to figure that one out when he sat down at the computers that night a crumpled post-it note in hand. He squinted at it and then tried the password with Lucy's account.

It wasn't snooping. He was just bored and it wasn't his fault that Rebecca hadn't gotten around to giving him his own access to the network.

The password wasn't Lucy's and it wasn't Rebeccas's. He was surprised to find that it worked on Shaun's though. He'd always thought the other man too paranoid to leave his password lying out in the open.

Shaun's inbox was mostly empty. A few emails from other teams and a truly boring correspondence with someone about politics. And one untitled email from Rebecca that was just a link.

_[a href= "http: /www. webmd. com/sex/news/20060918/ many-straight-men-have-gay-sex"] Many thanks for the article. I will have a link back to this information from our fresh blog. Thanks again. [/a]_

Bored, Desmond clicked on it.

.

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"That wasn't the reaction I was going for," Rebecca grumped into her coffee.

"Hm," Lucy agreed as she tiredly watched Shaun and Desmond studiously maintain a twenty foot bubble of space between them at all times. Without looking at the other once even though they were in a room that was roughly only _fifteen_ square feet.

"Next time, we'll go with your plan," Rebecca said. "I'll start work on reinforcing that closet tonight. You'll need to get a padlock for the door though, the one on it'll break too easily."

"I'll get it after I'm awake," Lucy sighed and buried her face in her mug of coffee. Remembering fondly the days when she didn't have to worry about team members acting like eight year olds.

.

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	20. The Right Tools

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money from this.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Musing on Malik's first days in Jerusalem, and how he handled the transition from Assassin to Rafiq. I think he'd tend to be more violent about it.

The Right Tools  
by Fairady

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The first day, Malik was shown around the market by the old Dai. Introduced as the man's nephew who would be taking care of his business as the old man spent the rest of his days resting with his wife. He was introduced to merchants and warned which would take advantage, which were honest, and which would not ask questions if the money was right. He was shown the streets that would take him from there to the Bureau the fastest, and then the streets that would take him there without being seen. He met with people who would likely require his skills as a mapmaker, people who could be counted on to do anything he might need for a few coins, and people who would do anything and remain silent for a few more.

On the second day he was given an old map of the city with a slew of apologies. It had not been updated since the Dai had lost the ability to walk the streets without aid. A giant of a man waited at the door for him, and Malik spent the day wandering the city. Making note of what had changed from the map.

The third day was spent in the Bureau going over the stock as the Dai told him which supplies where likely to run out quickly and which would rarely ever be used. In between these lectures they both worked on a new map. Using the Dai's old one and Malik's new notes.

On the fourth day Malik walked to the market on his own, taking the twisting maze that kept him out of sight for the most part. Observing how each of the merchants now treated him without the Dai's presence, and readjusting his estimation of them all. On the way back he took the quicker route. He was stopped along the way by city guards.

His fifth day was spent mostly in the Bureau as the Dai recited everything he knew about the guards. Their names, their lives, their vices. Malik did not flinch as the old man's hands changed bandages and brushed harshly against bruises. The Dai finished by instructing Malik of how important it was to not draw any attention to the Bureau. That no one ever suspect it or himself of anything.

Malik spent the sixth day handling small tasks and missions while the Dai packed his few meager possessions. He thought about staying hidden and not drawing attention. He thought about the feeling of fists and the sound of laughter. His body throbbed and ached, but not as much as his pride.

On the seventh day he saw the Dai off on a caravan that would take him near Masyaf. He stood by the gates long after it was gone. Watching the ebb and flow of people. Sedate scholars, boisterous children, irate merchants, harsh guards. Malik made his way to the market, carefully avoiding the roaming guards, and went to a merchant with shifty eyes.

Malik was an Assassin. No matter what job he was given he would always be that first. Staying hidden and unnoticed while removing a target was what he had been taught all his life. He just needed the right sort of tools.

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	21. Bar AU 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the pure gold that is TFLN.

Warnings: Eh, not much.

Notes: I read TFLN and always get this urge to write a truly epic bar AU where everyone is alive. But I suck at those things and only get a few pieces done. Here's the second one.

Bar AU  
by Fairady

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Desmond woke up and immediately prayed for death. He felt like he'd gone three rounds with a fucking truck and not known enough to throw in the towel after the first loss. The foul taste of Jagermeister tainted vomit in his mouth was answer enough for his condition. Desmond whimpered and tried to will himself back to sleep.

A brain splitting ring stopped that quickly. He fumbled around before one hand hit something that clattered to the floor. Grabbing the cellphone he answered it to save his head. He'd never figured out how to mute the damn thing. "What."

"You owe me twenty bucks," Kadar's voice came across cheerful and loud. Very, very loud.

Desmond winced and pulled the phone away from his ear almost tempted to hang up. "What'd I do?"

"You made me loose a bet with Rebbecca," the other man answered. "You told me you were straight man! She's going to be all smug about it too."

"What?"

"You know how competitive she gets about stuff," the eyeroll was audible even in his bad condition. "The money's just a formality. Bragging rights are the only prize she really wants."

"No, not-" Desmond grimaced shifting to curl up tighter as the nausea redoubled. "I'm not. I'm not gay, Kadar."

"Right," Kadar said sarcasm dripping off the word. "So I guess that wasn't you I saw making out with a guy last night?"

"Right," Desmond said, eager to put to rest any rumors that his co-workers might have been ready to spread.

"Just some random guy wearing the same clothes as you, with the same haircut, and the same height."

"-right," Desmond replied slower this time. The dark shroud over his memories shifting in a way he really didn't like.

"And who was named Desmond too."

_What the-_Desmond scowled and closed his eyes against the light leaking in through the window. "Very funny. It's not nice to fuck with the mind of the hungover, Kadar. You weren't exactly sober last night either," memories stirred in a way that was actually helpful and he frowned. "You were as hammered as me, why the fuck do you sound so chipper!"

"The sound of your misery is all the cure I need," nicer brother his ass. Desmond decided it was about time to reconsider his theory on Malik being a changeling. It was becoming obvious that Kadar was fairly demonic himself. "I also wasn't nearly drunk enough to hallucinate you going at it with another guy."

"Like hell you weren't," Desmond immediately denied. "You were _drunk_ as fuck, man. Whatever you think you saw last night doesn't count."

"Yeah? Well, Malik wasn't drunk at all! He saw you sucking face with a guy, Des."

"El Diablo doesn't count either."

"How about Altair?"

"Neither do minions."

"I'll tell him you said that," Kadar said with a sharp laugh that made Desmond wince. "Lucy and Rebbecca were there too. Oh, and Leo, pretty sure he was DD last night. Ezio and Rosa were kinda drunk but they're alcoholics so they probably remember it."

No. "No." _Hell, no!_

Memory, that tricky little bitch, stepped up and parted the not-quite-a-black-out curtain for him. And yes, there were lips, and tongue, and very large hands that were not female at all. "Quit fucking with me. I never-"

"Lucy taped it all," Kadar said with even more cheer. The bastard was enjoying this.

"Bullshit she did!" Desmond chose to ignore the desperate edge of denial in his voice.

"It's on Youtube," Kadar sounded equally regretful and delighted. "I'll send you the link."

Son. Of. A._ Bitch._Desmond groaned and would have started banging his head on the floor if the hangover wasn't doing such an excellent job of it already. "Dude, despite what happened last night, I'm not gay."

"The hickeys on your neck and the Youtube hits say otherwise," Kadar said, "and you'd better have my money ready by tonight."

Desmond threw his phone against the wall. It hit the floor only five inches away from the mattress and spun. He could hear the faint sound of Kadar laughing coming from it.

"Bullshit," Desmond rolled back up under his blanket determined to fall back asleep. To ignore the newly discovered throb of bruises on his neck and very vague memories of a man in glasses.

.

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	22. Bar AU 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the pure gold that is TFLN.

Warnings: Eh, not much.

Notes: I read TFLN and always get this urge to write a truly epic bar AU where everyone is alive. But I suck at those things and only get a few pieces done.

Bar AU  
by Fairady

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.

Kadar watched his phone patiently. It was after two and he knew it was only a matter of time now before it started ringing. It was almost as reliable as the sun rising.

Malik wandered into the kitchen with an empty mug and stared reproachfully at the empty pot. He glanced at the phone on the table as he rinsed the pot out for a new batch, "Jager?"

"Yep," Kadar said with a grin not taking his eyes off the table. They didn't say anything else as Malik went through the motions of making a pot of coffee. Just another part of their daily routine.

At fifteen after his phone rang. Malik sat down next to him with a steaming mug and vaguely interested look in his eyes. Kadar flipped it open and was cut off before he could even say anything.

"I woke up with spatula marks on my ass and burns on my hand," Desmond said with a growl. "Explain. Now."

"Well, I don't know why you're burned, but for the rest..." Kadar chewed on the side of his tongue to stop himself from laughing thankful that Des couldn't see him or Malik. Who could obviously hear enough and was now grinning. "You downed a few jagerbombs."

"I figured that," Des groaned. A thud came down the line which meant he was throwing things or had woken up in the tub again. "What I want to know is why I have spatula marks on my ass."

"Jaggerbombs," Kadar said in as serious a voice as he could manage ignoring the chuckles from his brother.

"That doesn't explain why-"

"And your really gay crush on Shaun," Kadar continued quickly as if he hadn't been interrupted. A bark of laughter escaped Malik as the sputtered denials began.

"What! I'm not, I don't have-" another, louder thump was heard which definitely was something being thrown. "I'm not gay, Kadar!"

Malik set his mug down and snatched the phone from Kadar before he could protest. "Then explain to me why you _gave _him the spatula wrapped up in a ribbon, and loudly begged him to punish you?"

Maybe it was time to get a new phone. Kadar wasn't leaning in close but he could still clearly hear Des' response. Malik let him go on grin getting wider at every denial before cutting in smoothly, "The whole bar saw it, and Rebecca is adding the video onto her YouTube channel. You cannot go on denying it."

"Like hell I can't!"

Kadar grabbed the phone again before his laughing brother could drop it. "Anyway, that's pretty much all I know. You dragged Shaun out after that and no one saw either of you again."

Des groaned piteously, "I'm not gay, Kadar."

"Sure you're not," Kadar snorted. "How many spatula marks did you say your ass has?"

A loud clatter was his only answer as Des threw his phone. Kadar started laughing.

.

.


	23. Desperate

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Heavy making out.

Notes: Someone wanted a fic all about kissing on the kink meme. I can't find the prompt now though.

Desperate  
by Fairady

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Desmond isn't desperate.

Lucy laughs in his face every time he says it though. Earlier that day she hadn't stopped until she was a crying, hiccuping mess on the living room floor. Giggling and shaky from the hiccups she'd told him to stop complaining and put on the pants she'd chosen for him. It was two sizes too small and about one good washing away from turning the fashionable holes into something pornographic.

Desmond isn't desperate.

Rebbecca snorts something alcoholic out of her nose when he says it. Swearing immediate vengeance on him, she'd pushed him into a warped game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. With tearing eyes and a glare that would make even Lucy blanch she'd put his name in the hat being passed around. He isn't surprised when his name is the first called, and he gets shoved into a closet. An occupied closet.

Desmond is _not_ desperate, but he has a sinking feeling that he will be in about five minutes.

Because no one had told him that Shaun Hastings, the gorgeous prick, had unbent enough to allow himself to be talked into going to a party. No one told him that Shaun Hastings, with a few drinks in him, could be talked into playing a silly party game only thirteen-year-olds played. And _no one _had told him that Shaun Hastings could kiss.

_God_ could the man kiss. Desmond feels his IQ dropping with each touch of tongue. Because Shaun had gone straight for the kill as soon as the door shut behind Desmond. Cutting off anything Desmond might have said. Not that Desmond would have said much. Shaun had a way of bringing out the stupid Neanderthal in Desmond, and his speech was the first thing to be destroyed.

Shaun smells clean. Freshly showered and shaved smooth. Desmond can smell the slightest trace of his aftershave and he knows he's going out to buy some as soon as the party ends because he is actually that pathetic.

The fact that he can even think any of that with Shaun's tongue doing a damn good job of mapping out Desmond's tonsils is either a sign of imminent brain meltdown or a miracle. He's not sure which since the brainpower needed to figure that out has gone to shoving Shaun's glasses up onto his head and messing up his carefully gelled hair at the same time.

"Four minutes!" Rebbecca sings, the closet door doing very little to muffle her gleeful cackling or the cheers of the people out with her.

"Bint," Shaun breathes against Desmond's lips before his tongue dives right back in.

The thick accent goes straight to Desmond's dick and the _tiny_ part of his brain not engaged in sucking face is cursing Lucy's choice in pants. The worn denim had been comfortably snug around his package, but is very quickly becoming painfully tight.

Shifting and squirming does nothing but push him right up against Shaun. Which doesn't help his problem at all. Shaun breaks off and chuckles, hands sliding down from Desmond's shoulders to grip his hips. Pulling Desmond in closer and grinding against him which makes Desmond moan.

Desmond gathers what little of his brain is left and pulls Shaun down. Sucking on his bottom lip and nipping lightly with his teeth. Loving the shudder each nip gets him. He shifts again until his thigh is between Shaun's leg and rubbing against the Brit's dick. Which is definitely as interested as Desmond's in the proceedings.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" Light intrudes harshly on them and Desmond breaks away to shield his eyes from it. Rebecca is silhouetted in the doorway, hip cocked and smirk very obvious in her voice. "Now break it up and take it to a bedroom."

"Uh," Desmond responds intelligently when his brain comes back online enough to comprehend what she's saying. He turns back, feeling his face flush entirely too hot, to say something to the other man. The words die in his throat because Shaun isn't looking at Rebbecca. His glasses are back down and his eyes are on Desmond. It's that same intensity he's only seen from afar. The one that broadcasts clearer than any words that the man's attention is completely focused on something.

"Find another closet. This one is going to be occupied," Shaun snaps as he yanks the door out of Rebbecca's grip and swings it closed.

Maybe, Desmond finally admits to himself, he might be just a little bit desperate, because he doesn't wait for the door to completely shut before pulling Shaun into another kiss.

.

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	24. Old Enough 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed and I make no money off of this. I spend a lot of my own money for this fandom in actuality.

Warnings: Genderbent AU.

Notes: That one genderbent AU is growing in my head. Anyone know if there's a transcript of the game script yet?

Old Enough  
by Fairady

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The pain is horrible. Malik screams. It sounds high and reedy even through the pounding in her own ears. She sobs as it ends, drawing in great gasping breaths of air.

"Filthy little thief!" One of the guards yells. Malik sees his booted foot draw back again through her tears and cries out as it connects with her side. "Think we would not see your thieving little hands!"

"I did not!" Malik sobs, curling up around the blazing ball of pain in her side. Lying for all the good it will do her. She tries to make herself smaller as another blow comes from behind. "I- I swear! I did-!"

One blow hits her head, and her sight swims at the pain. Malik does not realize she is screaming again until she cannot breathe. Her vision goes white and there is nothing else in the world for Malik. The pain is so intense she does not notice the individual kicks. Nor does she notice the surprised shouts or the gasps as the guards fall. She only slowly notices that the pain is fading from sharp blows to a spreading ache when a man kneels next to her. Dark eyes peer at her from the depths of a white hood and Malik tries to scream again.

"Shh," the man soothes, picking her up despite her weak struggles. "Easy, child. I will not hurt you."

Malik whimpers as somehting _shifts_ under the man's hand sending new waves of pain across her chest. It is enough to make her stop struggling. Enough to make her not care who the man might be or what he might want. She just wants the pain to _stop_.

"They made a real mess of you," shouts echo behind them and the man shifts his grip to hold her tighter. "It might be best for you to pass out, boy."

Malik gasps as the man starts to run. The pace jolting every ache and wound on her. Fortune favors her though, and Malik loses consciousness within the first three steps. 

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	25. Old Enough 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed and I make no money off of this. I spend a lot of my own money for this fandom in actuality.

Warnings: Genderbent AU.

Notes: That one genderbent AU is growing in my head. Anyone know if there's a transcript of the game script yet?

Old Enough  
by Fairady

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Malik watches the man from behind a crumbling wall.

He is sitting on a bench with his hood drawn low to shade his eyes. She cannot see his face properly, but even if she could Malik would not be able to recognize him as the man who saved her weeks ago. She remembers very little of the incident besides pain.

Gamal assures her that he is the same man though. That there is no mistaking the dangerous air of a man who kills for a living.

Malik swallows and sinks down into a crouch, lacing her fingers through her toes as she tries to convince herself to run away.

Gamal is older and knows of the Assassins very well, and has told them all stories of the ruthless men who turn the streets into their own personal hunting grounds. They fly from high buildings to rip their victim's hearts out with their own hands. Hearts they give to their master who holds regular bloody feasts. The Assassins ran through the night, looking for unwary children to kidnap. Cutting the throats of anyone unlucky enough to see their faces.

And they save little thieves from vicious guards.

Malik owes this man a debt. If not for her very life then she owes him for saving Kadar from losing the last of his family. She gets to her feet and looks to be sure the man is still there before entering the crowded streets. Winding, unnoticed through the mass of people as quickly as she can. Not allowing herself to think about it anymore.

Her heart still pounds a dreadful beat against her aching ribs as she nears the bench.

"I've heard you are looking for Jumah," Malik says as soon as she is seated. Her words shake just a little and she bites her lip as she _feels_ the man's attention swing toward her.

"Did you?" The man does not shift at all. Giving off all the apperance of being asleep. "And why would you be so interested in this?"

The answer to that is very easy and very obvious, calming her just enough to not stutter, "Because I know where he is, and you saved my life."

"Ah," the man hums thoughtfully. Head finally tilting enough for Malik to see under his hood. A surprisingly lined face peers down at her, and Malik is so shocked at how _plain_ he looks she forgets that she should be afraid. "It is hard to recognize you without all the blood covering you."

"The bruises aren't enough?" The sarcastic question slips out past Malik's nervousness.

The man laughs. A rough laugh that matches his worn face and dark eyes. It's a kind sound, something she has never heard except out of her own mouth towards Kadar.

"Well then, little one," the man reaches out, slowly, and rubs her hair in a guesture she's seen some fathers use with their sons, "tell me what you know."

And, with an oddly pleased feeling, she does.

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	26. Lessons Not Learned

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this. Seek elsewhere for all things Assassin's Creed.

Warnings: Slash.

Notes: And this sat on my hard drive for a while with no purpose at all. Still has none but it's not sitting at least.

Lessons Not Learned  
by Fairady

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Altair paused. The bureau entrance just below him, the shaded courtyard calling to his aching body. He wanted nothing more than to drop down onto the cushions there and sleep the worst of his pained exhaustion away. His proof, the bloodied feather, held in hand was all the payment any assassin needed to gain that bit of rest. But Altair was not just any assassin, and this was not any bureau.

So he paused. Took a deep breath and mentally braced himself for the next trial.

The building was silent as he dropped to the floor. The scuffing of his tired feet echoed in the silence and announced his arrival more effectively than the silencing of the alarms. Malik waited in the next room. Log book already out as he wrote whatever he needed to record. Altair carefully placed the feather next to the book. Close enough for Malik to see, but not so close that the blood might stain the pages he meticulously kept. Malik said nothing and the silence stretched out between them oddly peaceful. Altair did not make the mistake of relaxing. Eventually, the book and the feather were cleared off the counter. Hidden out of sight and leaving nothing at all between the two men.

Altair tensed.

"Successful as always I see," Malik said. His face was perfectly blank and his voice devoid of inflection. Gone was the anger that had greeted him not three hours before. No sign of the rage and hatred that Altair knew Malik could carry to the end of time if he wished to. That absolute absence of it -of everything- unnerved Altair far more than any of Malik's stinging insults could.

"Yes, Dai," a response was expected, and Malik would wait all day for it if he needed to.

"Good, boy," Malik said distantly, not truly looking at Altair even as he stood before him. It was, Altair had realized months ago, a game. A new version of a game they'd played when younger, one Malik had conceived of to teach Altair the lessons he'd been so loathe to listen to. Malik's eyes seemed to sharpen as he finally looked at him, voice taking on the lecturing cadence of a master teaching a novice, "And what was the cost of this mission?"

"A life," Altair answered immediately, because that was always the easiest answer. Each successful mission meant that a man was dead, and an Assassin must always be aware that such a death was a loss. "Several lives," because there were guards around. Men who had to die because their duty was to stop him. Not all the guards were corrupt or vicious, but that never mattered when the alarms sounded. "Fourteen in all."

"Their families will be devastated," Malik said. Altair heard in that toneless voice the echoes of the past. _Even the worst of the worst will have a son or wife who will cry for them._"What else?"

"Peace," Altair replied. The target had been in a market, making a purchase for his mistress. The citizens around him had screamed in real fear as Altair cut the man and closest guards down. A child had been close enough to be spattered by the blood. A woman had crouched down and screamed shrilly, not responding as people pushed and shoved her in their bid to escape the area. "The innocent who saw it will not be able to forget."

"Nor truly feel safe again," Malik was no longer looking at him. Eyes focused on a quill he toyed with, but Altair knew that was just a front. All his attention was still on Altair. "Anything else?"

"Property," the rush to get away -by the crowd and himself- had trampled merchant's goods. "And money as well," for the lost business and the little thieves that would have no doubt taken advantage of the chaos as a distraction. "There were- injuries," Altair hesitated over the word. He hadn't seen anyone hurt, but it was always safe to assume that some injury had come about when dealing with such a large crowd.

Malik hummed a neutral yet encouraging sound, "And?"

Altair opened his mouth but had nothing left to say. There was one more answer, one more thing that he was missing.

"You don't know do you?" Malik finally said after a lengthy silence. He stood, and Altair clenched his jaw at the look of disappointment that briefly flashed across the man's face.

"A life," Malik reached up, calloused fingers resting lightly on Altair's cheek. "All life is precious. Even that of our enemies. Several lives," Malik flattened his hand. Fingers spread and palm cradling Altair's cheek. "That's fourteen lives gone. Fourteen families who lost someone important to them."

"Peace," Altair forced his eyes to stay open as Malik pushed his hand back. Dragging down his hood enough to run his fingers through Altair's short hair. "Property," Malik leaned forward, breath stirring against Altair's chin. "Money," a tilt brought their foreheads together. Blurring Malik's dark eyes and bringing the man closer to Altair than they'd been for a year.

He paused then, deliberately not mentioning Altair's last tally. Malik always had known him far too well.

Malik pulled back enough for Altair to see his face. His dark eyes searched Altair's, flickering as they looked for something. Altair stared back mutely, unable to say anything. "Who are you forgetting?"

Altair kept his silence. Letting his voice echo the blankness of his own mind. He could truly think of nothing else. No matter how many times they played this game, or how disappointed Malik looked as he pulled back. "You've learned so well, Altair."

Altair felt the phantom brush of lips that would have once accompanied those words. The reward for having learned his lessons. Except, he hadn't learned anything, he still knew nothing. Malik stepped back, returning behind the counter to his duties. Not looking up as Altair stood there and stared. The ache of his body forgotten entirely under the pain of heart and mind as he was once again reminded of the cost of one particular mission.

"Safety and peace," Altair murmured as he retreated from an echoing silence that Malik didn't dispel.

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	27. Bar AU 4

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: AU.

Notes: Order must be maintained.

Bar AU  
by Fairady

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Kadar sensed a disturbance in the force the minute he walked into the bar. Looking around uneasily, it took him only a few seconds to pinpoint the source to the bar. Specifically, the man tending the bar and three women gathered around him.

Kadar eyed the sight before him with a pensive frown as he slowly approached. "You're not wearing a shirt."

Desmond glanced up from his work, "Hey man. Lucy said to clean out deep frier before the nights over."

"Why are you shirtless?" Kadar asked not willing to be swayed from that important point.

"They," Desmond flicked his towel at the grinning trio, "convinced me to wash the glasses at the bar topless."

Kadar shifted his attention to the trio. None of whom had shifted their sight from Des' chest. "How did they do this?"

"With a hundred dollar bill," Desmond replied matter of factly as he continued to dry glassware.

Kadar shook his head in despair, "Whore."

"Maybe," Desmond said with a shrug and a grin.

"You took money for sexual favors!" Kadar ignored the wistful sighs that came out around the word 'sex.' "How're you not a whore?"

"All I did was take my shirt off!" Desmond protested. "That makes me a stripper, not a whore. There was no sexual favors exchanged at all."

Kadar looked back at the trio, who had a distinctly dreamy look about them, "Only because you can't see them from the angle I'm looking. Put your shirt back on."

The women booed and gave him nasty looks as Desmond complied. Kadar didn't care. He'd be in the kitchen for the rest of the night. Pissing off a few women was worth not having to see what would happen if Shaun came in while Desmond was topless after all.

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End file.
